


the kind of day you want to wrap your arms around

by leiascully



Series: New York AU [13]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-24
Updated: 2010-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill has a friend with a boat.  Laura has a long weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the kind of day you want to wrap your arms around

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: New York AU  
> A/N: For the invaluable and very patient [**miabicicletta**](http://miabicicletta.livejournal.com/). The title is from Bird York's "Lovely Thing". [This website on Sailing New York](http://www.godweb.org/SailingNewYork.htm) was an excellent resource.   
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

On their second date, they go for Italian food. It's his choice, and she teases him gently. "There's more to New York City cuisine than noodles, you know."

"I can't help it if I'm a man who knows what he likes," he says in that rumbly amused tone that already sends a frisson of delight and desire down her spine.

This time, when he takes her home, they don't take a cab. They walk back to her apartment - it's ten blocks or so - and he offers her his arm as if he doesn't even have to think about it, or as if he doesn't know that men don't do that anymore. They stroll through the madding crowd as if they're taking a seaside promenade instead of navigating a sea of sticky tourists. The air is muggy, but Laura feels fresh and light, as if there's a breeze from somewhere else lifting the tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck.

"I'll walk you to your door," Bill says, patting her hand where it lies on his arm.

"I'm not asking you in," she says as she unlocks her door. "It's a long day tomorrow and I need to get some rest."

He just catches her hand and raises it to his lips. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek, feeling both daring and accustomed, as if it's a privilege she's already earned, to kiss him. "Good night, Admiral."

"Good night, Laura," he says. She likes the way his mouth shapes her name - she feels like some romantic heroine. The confident, empowered kind, that is, not the kind that swoons at every passing breeze. She hasn't come this far to let any man sweep her off her feet. Still, she leans briefly against the door when she closes it behind him, and her thoughts go with him.

He calls her on Monday. "There's this old buddy of mine who quit the Navy, went into military consulting or some nonsense. Anyway, he's not using his boat this weekend. Want to get out of the water?"

"Absolutely I do," she said, pleased.

"I thought that we could invite Saul and his wife - they're decent company for a day - and then ditch them at the marina and sail down to this little harbor my friend told me about. Make a trip of it."

"Oh yes?" she says. She's already lost in a reverie of sun and spray, but if there's one thing she's learned, it's that holding out will get her an even better deal. A student will come out with an answer. A cranky parent will offer a solution. An unhappy teacher will surrender to her silence. Perhaps Bill is susceptible too.

"It's a long weekend," he tempts her. "Memorial Day - everything's closed. I'll even buy you some barbeque. I hear there's a good restaurant off the bay I found."

"Is it better than my brother-in-law's?" she asks.

"I don't know," Bill says. "How good is that?"

"Kind of mediocre, to be honest," Laura says. "But I would get to see the baby."

"I can't promise you a baby," Bill says.

Laura's mouth opens and closes in amusement and astonishment, and then she laughs. "No, I can't imagine."

"I could introduce you to the boys, though." He pauses. "If you want."

"I'd like that," she says.

"Not this weekend," Bill clarifies, "because this weekend is for you and me and the open water. And Saul and Ellen, for a little while, and this little cocktail Saul and I concocted years ago we like to call ambrosia."

"That sounds like bliss," Laura says. "I'll bring some Dramamine just in case. And an extra blanket."

"A teacher to the last," Bill teases. "I think you'll find she's pretty well outfitted."

"Ellen?"

"The boat," Bill chuckles. "She's called _The Nebula_. Don't worry. You'll be comfortable."

"I believe you," Laura says. "God, the week can't go fast enough. Come for drinks with me on Wednesday."

"Aye, sir," he says, and it sends another little thrill down her spine.

"That'll keep me occupied for a good hour, you know," she says.

"I hoped," he said.

"How is it that you know me so well?" she asks, an idle question, combing her hand through her hair.

"Feels like I've known you a long time," he says after a moment.

"Yeah," she says. "Okay. I'll talk to you later."

"Call me," he says, and hangs up. She likes the abruptness of their disconnections. A clean cut, rather than the adolescent games of you-hang-up-no-you. God knows what she'd do if she let herself linger. She'd give herself over to him, heart and soul, the way things are going. At least she's ready this time, dissatisfied after a lifetime of holding back. That hasn't worked. This time, she's going all the way. She'll just fling herself out into space. Somehow she's sure he'll catch her. Until then, she'll just curl around the pillows in her roomy bed and dream of a lake so clear she can see all the way to the bottom, and a cabin nearby with him waiting on the porch.

Somehow she makes it to Wednesday evening. He's waiting at a table and God, it's such a relief to see him.

"What are you drinking tonight?"

"Bourbon," she says all in a rush, and his face crinkles into a grin.

"Going to have a cigar with it?"

"I just might," she says. "But first: a drink."

"Sounds like you know what you like too," he says.

"Always been that way," she says. "Oh, they do have cigars. Well then."

She likes the way he watches her smoke it. She thinks of Freud and giggles. She tries to blow a smoke ring and fails and laughs anyway. "This is a preview for the weekend," she tells him.

He raises one eyebrow.

"Yes," she says. "I'm going to drink bourbon and smoke cigars on the deck. But don't worry - I'll ash over the side."

"You're feisty tonight," he comments.

"You bring it out in me," she says. "I like it. I feel alive."

"Butterflies in your stomach," he teases.

"You old charmer," she says.

This time, when he walks her up to her apartment, she leans in and kisses him on the cheek. When she eases back, almost regretfully, he catches her under the chin with two gentle fingers and their lips meet.

"Ahhhh," she says when they break apart, a satisfied sigh.

"Felt good," he says.

"Yes, it did," she says, and smiles at him. "It felt right." It did - his mouth feels familiar, unexpectedly, as if she's kissed him before, long ago, in another life maybe. It's not the first thing like that about him: she catches a tilt of his head or a subtle flicker of humor and something in her mind says, _it's good to see that again_. She doesn't know what it is, but she likes it, as if they've gone through this before, and they can skip the will-we-or-won't-we. They're a sure thing. It's history or it's destiny or it's something she can't explain or describe, but something that works.

"Friday's not so far away," he says.

"Far enough," she says, and leans briefly against his warm, square shoulder before going inside. She's not flinging herself into space tonight. Friday will come, and then it will be the two of them on a boat all weekend, cut loose from the world and its myriad responsibilities. There will be alcohol. There will be what amounts to a double date - she's interested to meet Saul's wife, as she finds it difficult to imagine anyone marrying someone so dour.

She survives work, getting through the tedium of the days by daydreaming about the sea breeze. Richard has backed off, but she's still weary of the office, weary of the reminders of the affair, weary of all of it. She goes home Thursday night, changes into a blousy shirt and a peasant skirt, and packs a small bag. A bathing suit, a few towels, some comfortable pants and shirts, extra underwear - she's prudent, but she doesn't mind thinking of sunning herself a little. For all that she's old, well, she amends, older than she's ever been, she knows her legs are still nice. She's anticipating watching Bill's eyes linger on her body. She's anticipating a lot more than that, really, but she's starting there. It's a good place to build from.

Friday she fidgets at her desk and has to set a timer to make herself work: forty minutes of calls and forms and fiddling with numbers and making sure everyone's concerns are heard, and then five minutes of daydreaming. The day goes by in chunks until it's lunch, and then it's nearly five, and then it is five, and she's picking up takeout and taking a cab down to the marina.

Bill meets her at the dock, kisses her cheek, and takes her bag. "It's good to see you."

"I can't begin to tell you how much I need this weekend," she says. "Take me away from my humdrum life, Bill."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," he says, face crinkling into a smile. He looks at home here, helping her onto to the boat, his rolling walk normal on the swaying dock. In the cabin, he sets her bag down on the wide bunk (_wide enough for two_, she thinks, measuring with her eyes) and slips one arm around her waist as he kisses her, transferring the food to a tiny table with the other hand. She melts into him, caught off guard. God, his kiss is potent, like all her teenage dreams rolled into one embrace. He's strong and he smells good and even though it hasn't been that long since Richard, she feels like it's been six lifetimes since she was in a man's arms. Maybe it's just that she's been waiting all her life for this man.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "I just missed you."

"Don't apologize," she says. "I didn't mind."

"Faint praise," he says, brushing her hair away from his face.

"You know better than that," she says. "This is bliss."

"Wait until you meet Saul and Ellen," he says. "You might feel differently. But they'll only be here for a while. And anyway, you'll like them."

"I'm sure I will," she says, leaning back against the door that appeared to be to the toilet, or the head, or whatever it ought to be called. Their eyes meet. She's the first to look away, but a little smile brings out a dimple in his cheek.

He kisses her again, gently. "Don't worry. I'll pour you a drink."

"I may need one," she says.

"Me too," he tells her. "Let's go find the liquor."

The sun is still warm. They sit up near the wheel, sharing a seat that's a little too small, and digging their plastic forks into the containers of curry, scraping up the last bites as the light begins to glint across the water. "To your health," he says, clinking his glass against hers.

"And yours," she says. They sip bourbon. Laura tilts her head back half against the seat and half against Bill's shoulder and lets the sun and the liquor warm her. She sighs, long and breathy, and it feels as if all of her stress is just drifting away on the breeze.

"Bill, you son of a gun, where the hell is this tub you're on?" shouts a voice Laura recognizes as Saul's.

"He started early," Bill murmurs in her ear as he gets up.

Saul and a blonde who's presumably Ellen lurch into sight, cackling to each other. "So it seems," Laura says to herself.

"Over here," Bill calls out, and Saul helps Ellen up onto the boat. Up close, Ellen doesn't look drunk - she's just laughing her ass off. Saul's got a whiff of booze on his breath as he hugs Laura hello, but not as much as she would have expected. No, wait. She sniffs again. It's mouthwash. He's freshly shaved too.

"Oh, God, you have to hear this joke," Saul says. He wipes one eye. "Jeez, Ellen, you made me cry."

"Are you okay?" Bill asks, hand on Saul's shoulder.

"Fine, fine," Saul says, waving him off. "Ellen, this is Laura. Laura, this is my wife, Ellen."

"Charmed," Ellen says, beaming.

"The joke," Saul reminds her.

"Oh, okay, so, a guy walks into..." She dissolves into laughter. She and Saul are both bent double.

"Are you drunk?" Bill demands.

"Nah," Saul says. "We quit."

"I got fired from my job!" Ellen says brightly. "Best thing that ever happened to me, being escorted out of that lab. It happened, what, two weeks after you left on your last trip. I realized I was on a downward spiral, with the booze and the men and the staying up until all hours, and I went to a meeting. I'm sober now." She leans against Saul. "And he quit with me."

"Not as hard as I thought," Saul mumbles. "You know, when it's not around and all."

"Congratulations," says Bill in that raspy voice. "You didn't tell me?"

"Got caught up," Saul says, but he looks happy. He puts his arm around his wife, and they look at each other with adoring eyes. It would be enough to make Laura gag, if she weren't so happy herself. Besides, something in Ellen's eyes and the slightly unaccustomed way they hold each other close tells her that they deserve this, probably more than she does. She leans against Bill. He presses his cheek to her hair.

"I guess that rules out ambrosia and poker," Bill says.

"I can still kick your ass at the table," Ellen tells him sweetly.

"She can," Saul says. "Trust me."

"I'll take my chances," Bill says. "Laura?"

"I've watched my share of poker tournaments," she says. "And what do you call it, that celebrity poker show. There was a marathon that time I had the flu and didn't get off the couch for four days. I know the difference between a jack and a king."

"Well, let's get this party started," Saul says, rubbing his hands together.

Bill deals the first hand, a cigar in his teeth. They're playing Texas holdem, which is good, because it's the game Laura saw the most of, although frankly, the whole ordeal still seems like a fever dream. She's a little bit relieved to realize that "rainbow" and "river" are actually words that refer to poker. It's not so hard to get the hang of, and she does all right until she misreads Bill's face and tries to bluff her way to victory. He cleans her out, but the wink he gives her promises he'll make it up to her.

"You can join me in the loser's corner," Saul says jovially. "We'll watch Ellen mop the floor with him."

"No comments from the peanut gallery," Bill says. "It breaks my concentration."

"Like hell," Saul says.

"I'm sure he's having enough difficulty concentrating," Ellen says, her voice almost prim but her eyes glinting. "What with his lovely lady friend next to him." She pushes her chips forward. "I'm all in."

Saul leans over and sniffs her. "Sure. She smells good."

"Stand down," Bill jokes. "Fold." He tosses his cards down on the table as Ellen pulls her chips back. She nods at Bill and she picks up the cards and shuffles them. They toss their antes into the pot.

"Ellen and I might just take her away with us," Saul teases back. "What d'you say, Laura?"

"Oh, I think not," she says. "I've got to dance with the one who brought me."

"He's a good dancer," Saul says. "Should've seen him jigging up a storm on deck, making the lieutenant play the hornpipes."

"Saul, you old bastard, you lie worse than anybody I know," Bill says, turning over the cards. Laura watches, fascinated, as he and Ellen go through the rituals of the game, betting and flipping, not even trash-talking each other anymore.

"All in," Ellen says again.

Bill squints at her. "Are you just gonna keep pushing until I do it?"

She cups her chin in her hand. "Maybe."

"Fine," he says. "All in." They both push their chips in and flip their cards over. Ellen has three aces, with the cards in the middle of the table. Bill grumbles.

"Chancy," Saul tells Laura. "If the next card's another diamond, he'll have a flush."

"I remember," she says.

They all hold their breaths.

Bill turns the last card over. It's the four of clubs. His mouth twitches. Ellen crows and drags the pot over.

"If only we were playing for money," she teases.

"I learned my lesson year ago," Bill says.

"Faster than most," Saul jokes.

"I had child support to pay," Bill says.

"Small mercise," says Saul, and kisses Ellen, who leans against him.

"It's getting late," she says.

"Gonna finish this cigar," Saul says.

"I'm going to go up on deck for some fresh air," Ellen says. "Laura?"

"A little stargazing sounds ideal," Laura says. She and Ellen make their way up the small flight of steps to the deck. "It is quite lovely up here."

"I forget that you can see stars in the city," Ellen says dreamily, leaning on the railing.

"I've forgotten a lot of things, living here," Laura says. "But the sky seems clearer lately."

"Looks like you're making some happy memories," Ellen says. Her voice is sly, but in a jovial way.

Laura blushes a little, glad that it's dark. "We'll see."

"Oh, honey, that's a sure thing," Ellen says.

Laura sighs happily. "Do you think so?"

"I've known Bill a long time," Ellen says. "Almost as long as Saul."

"You two seem happy," Laura hazards.

"We were miserable," Ellen says bluntly. "And it was mostly my fault. I catted around and drank my weight in vodka and it's a miracle I didn't end up dead one way or the other." She has a hell of a lot of poise, Laura notes: Ellen holds herself like a queen, rigid but elegant, a mindful sort of posture. "But we're better now. Saul has more time for me now that that wretched, wonderful ship has been retired, and I have more time for him now that I'm not blind-drunk every night." She looks at her hands. "Maybe we'll adopt a child. I think I'd like that."

"I'm sure he would too," Laura says impulsively, touching Ellen's hand. Ellen flashes her a look of thanks.

"Sometimes I feel like Saul and I have been together forever," Ellen says, half-wistful. "Years and years and years, like our lives were entwined before we were even born."

"It sounds strange, but I know what you mean," Laura says.

"Like I said," Ellen tells her. "It's a sure thing."

"Ellen?" Saul calls. "Is it safe to come out, or are you still talking about us?"

"We have better things to talk about than you two old men," she taunts him.

"I'm sure that's true," Bill says.

"See," Laura says, pointing into the sky, "that is the constellation Virgo."

"Something I haven't seen for a very long time," Ellen jokes, leaning against Saul.

"Don't like that one anyway," Saul says. "Orion, that's the one. That's the easy one."

"You never were any good at celestial navigation," Bill says.

"I keep my eyes on the waves," Saul says.

"Probably about time we navigated our way home," Ellen says.

"Aye, sir," Saul says. "Let's hit the dock before Bill starts giving me the hairy eyeball. I'm sure he's tired."

"Get out of here," Bill says amiably.

"It was lovely to meet you both," Laura says, and kisses them both on the cheek.

"You've got a winner here, old man," Saul tells him.

"Tell me something I don't know," Bill says.

"Capricorn is visible in the northern hemisphere in September," Saul says. "Hah! No good at celestial navigation, my ass."

"I think that's our cue to leave," Ellen says, dragging Saul away by one hand. "But we'll see you two lovebirds later, won't we, Bill?"

"Of course," Bill says, putting his arm around Laura's waist. "Next time we'll play Trivial Pursuit and Laura will stomp us all into the ground."

"Or bridge," Laura puts in. "I'm good at bridge."

"You're good at a lot of things," Bill says in a voice meant for her ears only. "Some I've only guessed at."

"How would you like to go inside and I'll give you a little more fodder for your imagination?" Laura whispers back.

They stay long enough to see Saul and Ellen away down the dock, and then they can hardly get inside fast enough. "Thank God your friends are wealthy enough to have a boat with a real bed," she says. "I wouldn't want to do this on a narrow bunk."

"We'd have managed," he says. "But it is nice."

"It couldn't be anything else," she tells him. "I feel like I've been waiting too long for this."

They undress each other slowly, savoring each moment, each movement. She covers herself self-consciously at first, but he moves her hands gently away. His grasp is firm, not insistent, but confident. She sits there and lets him look at her. It's clear that he likes what he sees, and she stops blushing and undoes the buttons of his shirt to reveal his undershirt. She enjoys baring his broad chest. Years of military service have kept him strong, if not lean: he's built like a barrel. His skin is soft over the iron lumps of his muscles. She feels small in his arms, which is nice.

"Been a long time since I've done this," he says, undoing her bra on the first try and gently guiding the straps off her shoulders.

"Been a long time for me too," she says, reaching for his jeans. "Since I've done this with someone I really cared about."

"We'll take it slow," he promises, cupping her breasts in his hands. "Have to. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"None of us are," she says.

"Fortunately, I brought backup," he says. He sits up, letting his fingers trail down to her hip.

"In pill form?" she teases.

"Hah," he says. "I'm not that old yet, knock on wood. So to speak." He reaches into his bag, stashed down by the side of the bunk, and pulls out a bottle of lube and a smaller bottle of oil.

"What's that?"

"You'll see," he says, and tips a few drops of the oil onto his fingertip, and then draws a line down between her breasts. Her skin tingles and warms. The scent of sea air mixes with the rising aroma of vanilla.

"Ah," she says. "Very nice."

"A little indulgence never hurt anyone," Bill says. He draws designs on her belly and over her breasts, his tongue dipping to taste her oiled skin. His chin, with its hint of stubble coming through, nestles between her breasts. He's leaning half on her and she welcomes his weight. He catches one nipple in his mouth, making her back arch, and swirls his tongue over her skin. "Delicious." He eases her underwear down and plants a kiss on her inner thigh. She squirms under his touch, but he holds her down and lets his tongue flicker against her clit. "Mmmmmm."

"My turn," she says, sliding down under him as he props himself up, and traces her name on his chest. She runs her hands down his ribs, his back, over his ass. She kneads the knots out of his muscles. She touches the backs of his knees and the soles of his feet. He murmurs her name and takes her hand, pulling her back up his body as he rolls over. She drops a kiss on his thigh on the way up and briefly lips his cock, teasing the vein that stands out with her tongue.

They stroke each other all over like teenagers making out on the couch, until Laura's so full of bliss she feels like she's transcended her skin, like she's in touch with the universe. It's as if he's given her back her youth, only now she knows what to do with it, how to celebrate it. He's given her back that freshness and that delight and that utter sensuality. She wants to give him everything, to have him share in this feeling. She wants him to know how it feels when he touches her, like they're the only two people in the world who matter. She wants him to feel that too.

"I have to say, it makes it easy to take it slow when I want to explore every inch of you."

"Gets harder and harder, though," he says.

She reaches down as she straddles him. "My, yes. You're right. In fact, I think it may be time to switch gears." Even reaching into his bag for a condom gives her a thrill: ripping the little package open and rolling the latex over his hot, firm cock makes it real somehow, especially the way he's holding her gaze the whole time. She pours lube into her palm to warm it and slicks it over him, an abbreviated handjob.

He holds her hips. "Come on, then."

She eases into position and guides him slowly into herself. She's glad she's kept in practice, so to speak, with Richard and with toys, because she wants tonight to be all pleasure. "Ah," she says.

"Feels good," he says.

"Yeah," she says, shifting her weight, getting comfortable with him inside her. "Feels great."

He slides his hand to her back and then over her ass, cupping it. She moves again and they smile at each other. His eyes are devouring her; she can feel herself blushing again. She's so exposed here on top of him. Her breasts, which aren't as firm as they used to be, are right there for his eyes and his hands to caress. He can see her belly and her thighs as she straddles him. She imagines he can see himself sliding in and out of her, and that gives her a pleasant shiver. Still, it's so new, and so _much_, that it's too much.

"Bill," she says, hoping he'll understand somehow, with the ridiculous communion they've got going on, and he tangles his hands in her hair and pulls her down for a kiss. Her mouth melts into his and he rolls half over so that they're both on their sides. He slides his leg between hers and suddenly it all works just right. Their heads are resting on their folded arms. She can touch him all over, and kiss him without moving, and if he's not as deep as he was before, it still feels good.

"Hey there," he says quietly.

"Hey yourself," she says. They move together and it's perfect. It's just what she wanted. It's gentle. It's sweet. It's adult - it grounds the adolescent surges of passion she's been feeling around him. They are, after all, too mature and too settled to fuck each other stupid. Plus, she wouldn't be able to move in the morning.

"This is nice," she says.

"It's perfect," he says. "You're perfect."

"We're perfect," she corrects him, and he kisses her. The boat rolls a little on the waves, even at anchor, and their bodies roll too, the oil letting their skins slide over each other. The new angle lets her feel every movement. The pleasure washes over her in waves. She drinks him in with long slow kisses and he reaches down and touches her in all the right places and she's wanted this all her life.

"God, you're so beautiful," he murmurs against her lips. "Oh, Laura, it's you."

"Yes," she says, "yes, yes, yes." The ecstasy that's been swelling beyond her skin is condensing, outlining her body in incredible detail everywhere he touches her, the whole world in just their two bodies. It all goes to a single point and then expands again, connecting her to the universe and Bill's eyes are all she can see. It's bliss.

She hears his little grunt as he follows her over the edge and she clutches him to her, feeling the shudder of his muscles that match the tremors in hers. They're both breathing hard despite the slow sweetness of their lovemaking. She can feel his heart pounding where their chests are pressed together. He strokes her hair.

"Tomorrow," he whispers. "Tomorrow morning, we'll have breakfast and then weigh anchor and we'll leave the marina. I heard of a little place near Jamaica Bay, down by the Mill Basin. It'll be quiet and peaceful and we can spend all day there. There's a trail through the nature preserve. You can sunbathe. We'll have lunch on the boat and go in to the marina for dinner. They have showers there and a nice little restaurant. I thought we'd spend all Sunday there. I rented a hotel room for us at Dead Horse Bay so we'll have a bed that doesn't rock - I know you're not used to bunking like this. They have a little cinema in town where they show old mystery movies. And then Monday, we'll do whatever you want. We can come back, we can stay out, it's all up to you and how sick of me you are by then."

Her imagination is filled with scenes from this idyll: standing on deck, leaning against him; the two of them draped across the deck swapping bad novels and the occasional kiss; sitting across from him wearing his shirt and buttering toast; descending from the boat to stand on the dock. Oh, she could never be sick of this, of him. Doesn't he know she's flying and that he's the one who makes her forget gravity? Doesn't he know she's finding peace in his arms? She hasn't ever felt this way. She hasn't ever allowed herself to let go.

"I'll never get sick of you," she promises, and it's hard to say, but it's freeing, too.

"You might want to reserve judgement on that," he jokes. "Anyway, that's not a concrete plan. We'll see how we feel tomorrow. We could just stay in bed all weekend." He kisses her shoulder.

"Tomorrow," she says, and holds him tight.


End file.
